 | City legends |  |
Scene III.
the same; it has been growing dark, and is nearly time to go home. The remainder of the afternoon has passed in recitations, songs, and speeches, and all seem, upon the whole, to have had a good time.Deacon Kindman.
And now let's be reminded that though Misfortune's hand
Has reached us all for reasons that God can understand,
While we, short-sighted creatures, shrink murmuring from its touch.
Yet there are those who suffer a thousand times as much.
[Enter an elocutionist, dressed as a tramp. His face has a lonely, haggard look; his eyes are cast downward,
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THE CONVICTS CHRISTMAS EVE.
The term was done; my penalty was past;
I saw the outside of the walls at last.
When I left that stone punishment of sin,
'Twas 'most as hard as when I first went in.
It seemed at once as though the sweet-voiced air
Told slanderous tales about me everywhere;
As if the ground itself was shrinking back
For fear 'twould get the Cain's mark of my track.
Women would edge away, with shrewd she-guesses,
As if my very glance would spoil their dresses;
Men looked me over with close, careless gaze,
And understood my downcast, jail-bird ways;
My hands were so grim-hardened and defiled,
I wouldn't have had the cheek to pet a child;
If I had spoken to a dog that day,
He would have tipped his nose and walked away.
And so I wandered in a jail of doubt,
Whence neither heaven nor earth would let me out.
The world itself seemed to me every bit
As hard a prison as the one I'd quit.
I saw the outside of the walls at last.
When I left that stone punishment of sin,
'Twas 'most as hard as when I first went in.
It seemed at once as though the sweet-voiced air
Told slanderous tales about me everywhere;
As if the ground itself was shrinking back
For fear 'twould get the Cain's mark of my track.
Women would edge away, with shrewd she-guesses,
As if my very glance would spoil their dresses;
Men looked me over with close, careless gaze,
And understood my downcast, jail-bird ways;
My hands were so grim-hardened and defiled,
I wouldn't have had the cheek to pet a child;
If I had spoken to a dog that day,
He would have tipped his nose and walked away.
And so I wandered in a jail of doubt,
Whence neither heaven nor earth would let me out.
The world itself seemed to me every bit
As hard a prison as the one I'd quit.
If you are made of anything but dirt,
If you've a soul that other souls can hurt,
Turn to the right henceforth, whoever passes:
It's death to drop among the lawless classes!
Men lose, who lose the friendship of the law,
A blessing from each breath of air they draw;
They know th' advantage of a good square face,
When theirs has been disfigured by disgrace!
If you've a soul that other souls can hurt,
Turn to the right henceforth, whoever passes:
It's death to drop among the lawless classes!
Men lose, who lose the friendship of the law,
A blessing from each breath of air they draw;
They know th' advantage of a good square face,
When theirs has been disfigured by disgrace!
So I trudged round, appropriately slow
For one with no particular place to go;
The houses scowled and stared as if to say,
“You jail-bird, we are honest; walk away!”
The factories seemed to scream, when I came near,
“Stand back! unsentenced men are working here!”
And virtue had th' appearance, all the time,
Of trying hard to push me back to crime.
For one with no particular place to go;
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“You jail-bird, we are honest; walk away!”
The factories seemed to scream, when I came near,
“Stand back! unsentenced men are working here!”
And virtue had th' appearance, all the time,
Of trying hard to push me back to crime.
It struck me strange, that stormy, snow-bleached day,
To watch the different people on the way,
All carrying parcels, of all sorts of sizes,
As carefully as gold and silver prizes.
Well-dressed or poor—I could not understand
Why each one hugged a bundle in his hand.
I asked an old policeman what it meant:
He looked me over, with eyes shrewdly bent,
While muttering, in a voice that fairly froze,
“It's 'cause to-morrow's Christmas, I suppose.”
And then the fact came crashing over me,
How horribly alone a man can be!
To watch the different people on the way,
All carrying parcels, of all sorts of sizes,
As carefully as gold and silver prizes.
Well-dressed or poor—I could not understand
Why each one hugged a bundle in his hand.
I asked an old policeman what it meant:
He looked me over, with eyes shrewdly bent,
While muttering, in a voice that fairly froze,
“It's 'cause to-morrow's Christmas, I suppose.”
And then the fact came crashing over me,
How horribly alone a man can be!
I don't pretend what tortures yet may wait
For souls that have not run their reckonings straight;
It isn't for mortal ignorance to say
What kind of night may follow any day;
There may be pain for sin some time found out,
That sin on earth knows nothing yet about;
But I don't think there's any harbor known
Worse for a wrecked soul—than to be Alone.
Alone!—there maybe never has occurred
A word whose gloom is gloomier than that word!
For souls that have not run their reckonings straight;
It isn't for mortal ignorance to say
What kind of night may follow any day;
There may be pain for sin some time found out,
That sin on earth knows nothing yet about;
But I don't think there's any harbor known
Worse for a wrecked soul—than to be Alone.
Alone!—there maybe never has occurred
A word whose gloom is gloomier than that word!
You who can brighten up your Christmas joys
With all affection's small but mighty toys,
Who fancy that your gifts of love be rash,
And presents are not worth their price in cash,
Thank God, with love and thrift no more at war,
That you've some one to spend your money for!
A dollar plays a very dingy part
Till magnetized by some one's grateful heart.
So evening saw me straggling up and down
Within the gayly lighted, desolate town,
A hungry, sad heart-hermit all the while,
My rough face begging for a friendly smile.
Folks talked with folks, in new-made warmth and glee,
But no one had a word or look for me;
Love flowed like water, but it could not make
The world forgive me for my one mistake.
With all affection's small but mighty toys,
Who fancy that your gifts of love be rash,
And presents are not worth their price in cash,
Thank God, with love and thrift no more at war,
That you've some one to spend your money for!
A dollar plays a very dingy part
Till magnetized by some one's grateful heart.
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Within the gayly lighted, desolate town,
A hungry, sad heart-hermit all the while,
My rough face begging for a friendly smile.
Folks talked with folks, in new-made warmth and glee,
But no one had a word or look for me;
Love flowed like water, but it could not make
The world forgive me for my one mistake.
An open church some look of welcome wore;
I crept in soft, and sat down near the door.
I'd never seen, 'mongst my unhappy race,
So many happy children in one place;
I never knew how much a hymn could bring
From Heaven, until I heard those children sing;
I never saw such sweet-breathed gales of glee,
As swept around that fruitful Christmas-tree!
I crept in soft, and sat down near the door.
I'd never seen, 'mongst my unhappy race,
So many happy children in one place;
I never knew how much a hymn could bring
From Heaven, until I heard those children sing;
I never saw such sweet-breathed gales of glee,
As swept around that fruitful Christmas-tree!
You who have tripped through childhood's merry days
With passionate love protecting all your ways,
Who did not see a Christmas-time go by
Without some present for your sparkling eye,
Thank God, whose goodness gave such joy its birth,
And scattered heaven-seeds in the dust of earth!
In stone-paved ground my thorny field was set:
I never had a Christmas present yet.
With passionate love protecting all your ways,
Who did not see a Christmas-time go by
Without some present for your sparkling eye,
Thank God, whose goodness gave such joy its birth,
And scattered heaven-seeds in the dust of earth!
In stone-paved ground my thorny field was set:
I never had a Christmas present yet.
And so I sat and saw them, and confess
Felt all th' unhappier for their happiness;
And when a man gets into such a state,
He's very proud—or very desolate.
Felt all th' unhappier for their happiness;
And when a man gets into such a state,
He's very proud—or very desolate.
Just then a cry of “Fire!” amongst us came;
The pretty Christmas-tree was all aflame;
And one sweet child there in our startled gaze
Was screaming, with her white clothes all ablaze!
The pretty Christmas-tree was all aflame;
And one sweet child there in our startled gaze
Was screaming, with her white clothes all ablaze!
The crowd seemed crazy-like, both old and young,
And very slow of deed, though swift of tongue.
But one knew what to do, and not to say,
And he a convict, just let loose that day.
And very slow of deed, though swift of tongue.
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And he a convict, just let loose that day.
I fought like one who deals in deadly strife:
I wrapped my life around that child's sweet life;
I choked the flames that choked her, with rich cloaks,
Stol'n from some good but very frightened folks;
I gave the dear girl to her parents' sight,
Unharmed by anything excepting fright;
I tore the blazing branches from the tree;
Till all was safe, and no one hurt but me.
I wrapped my life around that child's sweet life;
I choked the flames that choked her, with rich cloaks,
Stol'n from some good but very frightened folks;
I gave the dear girl to her parents' sight,
Unharmed by anything excepting fright;
I tore the blazing branches from the tree;
Till all was safe, and no one hurt but me.
That night, of which I asked for sleep in vain—
That night, that tossed me round on prongs of pain,
That stabbed me with fierce tortures through and through
Was still the happiest that I ever knew.
I felt that I at last had earned a place
Among my race, by suffering for my race;
I felt the glorious facts wouldn't let me miss
A mother's thanks—perhaps a child's sweet kiss;
That man's warm gratitude would find a plan
To lift me up, and help me be a man.
That night, that tossed me round on prongs of pain,
That stabbed me with fierce tortures through and through
Was still the happiest that I ever knew.
I felt that I at last had earned a place
Among my race, by suffering for my race;
I felt the glorious facts wouldn't let me miss
A mother's thanks—perhaps a child's sweet kiss;
That man's warm gratitude would find a plan
To lift me up, and help me be a man.
Next day they brought a letter to my bed;
I opened it with tingling nerves, and read:
“You have upon my kindness certain claims,
For rescuing my young child from the flames;
Such deeds deserve a hand unstained by crime;
I trust you will reform while yet there's time.
The blackest sinner may find mercy still.
(Enclosed please find a thousand-dollar bill.)
Our paths of course on different roads must lie;
Don't follow me for any more. Good-by.”
I opened it with tingling nerves, and read:
“You have upon my kindness certain claims,
For rescuing my young child from the flames;
Such deeds deserve a hand unstained by crime;
I trust you will reform while yet there's time.
The blackest sinner may find mercy still.
(Enclosed please find a thousand-dollar bill.)
Our paths of course on different roads must lie;
Don't follow me for any more. Good-by.”
I scorched the dirty rag till it was black;
Enclosed it in a rag, and sent it back.
Enclosed it in a rag, and sent it back.
That very night, I cracked a tradesman's door,
Stole with my blistered hands ten thousand more,
Which I next day took special pains to send
To my good, distant, wealthy, high-toned friend,
And wrote upon it in a steady hand,
In words I hoped he wouldn't misunderstand:
“Money is cheap, as I have shown you here;
But gratitude and sympathy are dear.
These rags are stolen—have been—may often be:
I trust the one wasn't that you sent to me.
Hoping your pride and you are reconciled—
From the black, sinful rescuer of your child.”
Stole with my blistered hands ten thousand more,
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To my good, distant, wealthy, high-toned friend,
And wrote upon it in a steady hand,
In words I hoped he wouldn't misunderstand:
“Money is cheap, as I have shown you here;
But gratitude and sympathy are dear.
These rags are stolen—have been—may often be:
I trust the one wasn't that you sent to me.
Hoping your pride and you are reconciled—
From the black, sinful rescuer of your child.”
I crept to court—a crushed, triumphant worm—
Confessed the theft, and took another term.
Confessed the theft, and took another term.
My life closed, and began; and I went back
Among the rogues that walk the broad-gauged track.
I prowl 'mid every sort of sin that's known;
I walk rough roads—but do not walk Alone.
[Company take leave of their host, and disperse, cheerfully
but thoughtfully, with the consciousness of
having had a splendid time, but with pity in their
hearts for those who are more miserable than Poverty
could possibly make them.
Among the rogues that walk the broad-gauged track.
I prowl 'mid every sort of sin that's known;
I walk rough roads—but do not walk Alone.
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